


Morning, Meetings, Night

by annalyia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gift Fic, Implied Sexual Content, birthday present fic, but there is a little, coming up with a title for this was H E L L, this is the longest thing I've written in a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalyia/pseuds/annalyia
Summary: Alistair and Artemi are the king and queen of Fereldan.  Here is just a taste of one of their normal days as rulers.





	

Alistair wraps his arm around Artemi and pulls her closer, pressing their bodies together.  He buries his face in the crook of her neck and breathes in deeply, her familiar piney scent soothing him.  “Good morning, my love,” he mumbles, placing a kiss to her neck and causing Temi to shudder slightly.  He tries to roll her over and bring his lips to her mouth next, but she dips her head and his kiss instead lands on her forehead.  Alistair lets out an upset grumble and attempts to kiss her but to no avail.  “Temi,” he whines.

“What is it, Alistair?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.  “I’m tired and we have a long day ahead of us, leave me be.”

Pouting, Alistair complies, doing his best to be content with just holding his queen close.  Temi quickly falls back asleep, but Alistair stays awake, his mind dwelling on what they would be doing if his wife were awake. 

Eventually, the sun finishes rising in the sky and its light shines through the arching windows, bathing their bed and waking Temi.  She groans and pulls the covers over her eyes.  “I don’t want to get up,” she says.

“Now, Temi,” says Alistair, kissing her neck again, “you’re the one who said that we have a long day ahead of us, so you know that we can’t continue lying here doing absolutely nothing.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she says, sitting up and causing the sheets to fall off her torso.

Alistair eyes his wife, wishing he could better see what was somewhat hidden under her sheer nightgown.  He tries to slip his hand up her thigh – and even further – but she bats him away with a coy smile.  “Not now, love,” she quips. 

Alistair frowns and says, “but, _surely_ we have a little bit of time.”

Temi’s stern expression stops his advances completely and he shies away.  “Please, let us just get ready, my love,” she says softly before giving Alistair a gentle kiss and getting out of their bed, grabbing the small cup of tea sitting on her nightstand, left there by a servant earlier in the morning.

Her nightgown hangs off her body in just the right way and Alistair wishes more than anything that he could grab her around the waist and pull her back onto their bed and kiss her until –

“I know what you’re thinking,” Temi says without turning, tugging her dress over her head.  “And _I_ think that you need to get out of that bed and get ready for our meetings today if you _ever_ want that to happen.” 

Alistair climbs out of bed, knowing that he has lost this battle.

But he will not lose the war.

He walks to his armoire – right next to Temi’s – and picks out a shirt and pants that complement her dress flawlessly and clothes himself in those before pulling on a leather vest and his boots.  Alistair turns to his wife and sees that she has perfected her outfit.  Her dress is a deep navy blue – the bodice a lovely shade of cream trimmed in lace that is also found on her cuffs and hem.  It hugs her curves in just the right way and it is all Alistair can do not to kiss her thoroughly and then some.  She is focused on her reflection – even though Artemi styles her hair in the same intricate plait every day, she has told Alistair that she isn’t confident enough to braid it without a mirror, just in case. 

A sigh escapes his lips as his heart flutters in his chest. 

"Alistair, please, we’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about,” Temi says.  “And by we, I most definitely mean you.”  Alistair opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off.  “Believe me, my king, I do love you.  You know that, right?”  He nods.  “Good.  But you also know that I love our kingdom, correct?”  Another nod.  “Excellent.  Now, can we please go sit on our incredibly uncomfortable thrones and do our best to pay attention to the pleas and complaints and demands of whatever subjects wish to speak with us today?  I would like to get out of this infernal dress and into something significantly more comfortable, such as pants, or maybe nothing at all.”  She winks.

Alistair’s head bobs in agreement again, a wide grin on his face.  That conviction right there is one of the many reasons he fell in love with his queen.  Before she can protest, he closes the distance between them and kisses her lightly.  Her lips are soft and receive his readily, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away from Alistair’s mouth and arms, a mischievous smile on her face.  “There’ll be more where that came from later,” she says with a wink.  His needy groan causes her to giggle.  “Calm down, my love,” she says, still laughing.  “You shall be fine.”  She picks up her teacup again, draining the last of the liquid before placing it back on her nightstand and retuning to Alistair’s side.

Artemi grabs her husband’s hand, interlocking their fingers and squeezing.  “Are you ready for the day?” she asks. 

“I do suppose that I have to be,” he replies.  “But, do you think that there is any chance we could quickly sneak into the kitchens and find something suitable for breakfast?”

“It’s not like they can start without us.  We’ll just be a moment.” 

The king and queen of Fereldan soundlessly exit their chambers before slipping down a side passage to the kitchens that normally keeps them out of the sight of most of the other occupants of their castle.  This path is not a new one to them – they often awaken too late for any sort of formal breakfast in their dining hall, instead opting to grab a quick snack from the kitchens to tide them over until their midday meal. 

When they reach the kitchens the head cook – a kindhearted elderly elf named Nerith – greets them.  “G’morning, yer majesties,” she says.  “Gettin’ another late start, I see.”  She laughs at Alistair and Temi’s chagrin and hands them each a little parcel containing a small roll, an apple, and a wedge of cheese.  “I’m assumin’ that ye’ll be wantin’ the usual.”  Her smile is kindly and the rulers of Fereldan thank the Maker for such a wonderful person.

“Thank you, Nerith,” Temi says.  “We really do appreciate this.”

“Of course, m’lady,” the elf replies, dipping her head in a bow of sorts.  “I’ll be seein’ you later for lunch, ma’am.”  And with that, the cook returns to her duties, ensuring her staff cooks the best meals possible. 

Artemi and Alistair scarf down their meal in a manner that is considered rather undignified for a queen and king.  But they do not have much time; Temi assumes that they are already a tad late for their first meeting.

Finally, they arrive at the side entrance to the throne room.  They are greeted by one of their guards, who ushers them in and hands them their respective crowns once they are seated on their thrones.  Alistair’s crown is golden in color with an intricate design inlaid, while Artemi’s is just a simple white gold circlet with a sapphire on the front.  The king and queen lock eyes and sigh before turning their attention to the large wooden doors that are the main entrance to the room.  Temi never really liked this room, finding it much too large for occasions such as this, but there was no other acceptable room in the castle for the king and queen to receive guests. 

Alistair nods to the guard, signaling him to open one of the doors and let their first citizen inside. 

A short man is escorted down the walkway – Temi can only assume he is a dwarf from his size and stature.  The guards bring him to a stop right before the steps that lead up to the throne before taking a step back and giving the man some space. 

“Hello, your majesties,” he says in a deep and rumbling voice. 

“Good day, sir,” Alistair says.  “What is troubling you this day?

The dwarf lets out a long sigh.  “Plenty, my king,” he says.  He then breaks into a long, drawn out explanation of how there was a block to his trading routes and how he couldn’t get his wares, meaning that he could not give supplies to the king’s army.  Temi is only half paying attention, so she only catches snippets of his story.  Something about the dwarves in Orzammar being selfish – no surprise there – and how that meant bad tidings for the kingdom. 

She figures she’ll let Alistair handle this one.

And he does with a, “thank you for letting us know, good dwarf.  We shall be sure to get in contact with our friends in Orzammar and see what we can do.”

The dwarf bows.  “Thank you, your majesty.”  He is led back down the long blue carpet towards the door by the guards and then shown out. 

Alistair puts his head in his hands and sighs.  “This is going to be a long day, my love, isn’t it?”

Temi reaches over and rests her hand on his shoulder.  “Don’t worry, darling, I believe that we will make it.”  Alistair peeks out from behind his fingers and Temi’s lips curve upwards at the sight.  “Now, sit up straight.  It simply won’t do for our citizens to see their king in such a state.”

“Of course,” Alistair says.  He takes his wife’s hand and brings her knuckles to his mouth, brushing his lips across them with a slight grin.  “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the people, now would we?”

“I’m glad you understand,” she replies, stifling a chuckle. 

With that, Alistair releases Artemi’s hand and the king and queen resume their respective poses, backs straight and expressions blank.  “Bring in the next one,” Alistair says.

And so it goes – for hours and hours the pair sits in their thrones, listening to the woes of their countrymen.  This teyrn feels like his crops might be failing.  Another thinks that apostates are killing all his cows.  A few of them want to raise taxes so that there is more money for the rest of the necessary post-war restorations.  Alistair and Temi think that one is a good idea, at least.   

After about ten such meetings, the guards tell the remaining visitors that the king and queen will be taking a short break for their midday meal (and that there is food in the dining room for the guests).  It is not much more than what they had for breakfast; there is bread and fruit and cheese once again, but they are also given portions of ham.  The rulers of Fereldan scarf down their meal rather quickly, taking the extra time after eating to slouch in their thrones.  Temi crosses her legs – in a very un-queen like manner – and sighs.  “How many more of these are we supposed to have?” she asks.

Alistair takes the parchment from the short table next to his throne and unrolls it.  His eyes scan the list for the names they have already heard.  “Fifteen,” he groans. 

“That many?”

“Unfortunately.”

Temi huffs and slouches even further down her throne.  “This is ridiculous.  We’ve never had this many complaints in one day before, have we?”

“Not since the war ended.”

Temi purses her lips and nods.  That was not a fun time.  “Well, fifteen is better than sixteen, wouldn’t you say?”

Alistair smiles.  “I would have to agree, my love.”

“Your majesties,” one of the guards interrupts, disturbing Temi and Alistair’s few moments of actual peace.  “The lords and ladies have finished with their meal, are you ready to receive them once again?”

“I suppose we have to be,” Temi says, straightening in her chair and placing her feet back on the floor.  “Let the next one in whenever you are ready.”

And so it goes; Alistair and Artemi listen to fifteen more cases over the next several hours.  Most of them are repetitive, but a few either pique the king and queen’s interests or make them laugh.  One teyrna bashfully informs them that her people are having a slight nug problem.  Why the small creatures decided all of the sudden to make their livelihoods above ground, she is unsure.  What she _is_ sure of, however, is that they are causing many problems – they’ve already eaten large quantities of stored food, among other things.  “Do you have any means of assisting my people, or suggestions for what I can do?” she asks. 

Doing her best to stay composed, Temi smiles at the teyrna.  “How…attracted to these small creatures are your people?” she asks.

The teyrna purses her lips.  “Not very, your majesty,” she says.  “I’ve seen many a housewife resort to literally kicking the animals out of their doorways.”

Temi nods.  “All right, well, my suggestion would be that nugs make an excellent source of food, or, at least, that is what I have been told by the dwarves who live in Orzammar.  They pair very well with deep mushrooms.  And, since you said that they have been nibbling on your food stores, I assume this will be a good solution.”

The teyrna opens her mouth to speak, but promptly closes it when she cannot find any words.  She is puzzled momentarily, but makes a smooth recovery.  “Well, since you, my queen, have suggested it, I will do my best to bring this idea forward to my people.”  She curtsies, and with a “thank you, your majesties,” she is escorted from the room. 

“A nug problem,” Temi muses.  “Hopefully we never have one of those here.”

“Of course, my love,” Alistair replies with a chuckle.  “Bring the last one in,” he tells the guard. 

The last teyrn to visit just gives a simple report of his lands – everything is going well, but it was time for his yearly check-in.  He bows from the waist and leaves.  Temi slides down her chair once he is gone.  “We’re done,” she says.  “Maker, that took forever and a day.”

Alistair dismisses the guards with a wave of his hand.  “Thank you, men.  That is all we shall be needing you for today.”  The guards bow and leave the throne room.

The two then retreat to one of their nearby studies, finishing up the paperwork and reports necessary for that day.

“Are you ready for some supper, my love?” Temi asks as she stands.  Raising her arms above her head she stretches before letting out a loud sigh.  “I always get so stiff sitting in these chairs, even if it isn’t for very long.”

“You want to eat?” Alistair replies, surprised.  “I was, ah, hoping that, er, maybe we could, you know, get you into something more comfortable.”

Temi raises an eyebrow.  “Darling, I simply do not know what you’re talking about.  I’m rather hungry, so I think I shall go and see what stew Nerith has prepared for dinner.”  She suppresses a smile – Alistair suppresses a groan – as she turns and exits their office, her husband hot on her heels.  “What is the problem, my love?” she asks.  “You seem rather out of sorts.”

“Is supper really necessary?”

“I most certainly think so.”

With that, the pair arrives at the kitchen.  “Yer majesties!” Nerith approaches them.  “How were the meetins?”

“Exhausting as always, Nerith,” Temi replies with a smile.  “Now, what have you prepared for us tonight?”

Nerith turns and grabs a large pot off the counter behind her.  “A big ol’ bowl of lamb stew, just fer the two of ya.”  Alistair takes the pot as Nerith hands Temi two small bowls and spoons.  “Feel free to take it to yer chambers; I’ll be sure to have someone pick up yer leftovers.”

“Thank you, Nerith,” Temi says.  “Have a good rest of your day!”

“You too, yer majesty,” Nerith says happily, waving them goodbye. 

Artemi carries the bowls back to their chambers, humming to herself.  “This sounds absolutely delicious, does it not?” she asks over her shoulder to Alistair.

“Yes, great,” he mutters, scowling. 

“Aw, has something got you down, dearest?”

“No,” he replies, contempt dripping from his voice. 

“Good!  You had me worried there for a moment.”

Alistair could scream.  “Sorry about that, love.”

Finally, Artemi and Alistair return to their chambers.  Temi pushes the door open and Alistair places the pot of stew on the table in the middle of the lower half of the room – the upper half, reachable by a few stairs, contains their bed and armoires.  They serve themselves the stew and eat it mostly in silence, the quiet punctuated only by a few pleased noises when they first try the stew.  It is excellent as always; Nerith did not become the head of their kitchens for nothing.  She adds many a root vegetable to her stews to give it an earthy flavor that reminds the king and queen of their adventures. 

After eating her last bite, Temi pushes her bowl back and slides down in her chair.  “That was incredible and amazing and almost every other positive word I could ever think of.”

“It was delicious,” Alistair agrees.  “But, now that it’s gone, what do you think we ought to do?”

“I don’t know about you, but I was planning on changing into my nightgown and going straight to bed.  We’ve had quite a long day.”

“Would it hurt to make it any longer?”

But Temi has already begun ascending the stairs to her dresser and does not indicate that she heard him. 

Alistair lays his head face-first on the table.  Who knew women could be so infuriating?

After a few minutes, Temi calls out, “are you coming to bed, my love?”

Grumbling, Alistair trudges up the steps, straight to his armoire where he begrudgingly gets into his pajamas.  He turns towards the bed and stops dead in his tracks.  “Artemi…?”  He is met with the sight of his wife laid out under the very-thin-not-leaving-much-to-the-imagination sheets on their bed.  “What, uh, er…” his voice trails off.

“I did say, earlier this morning, that I simply could not wait until I was out of that dress and into something more comfortable, such as pants or nothing at all, did I not?”

Alistair nods, dumbfounded.  “That you did.”

“So why don’t you make yourself equally as comfortable?”

And that he does.  In fact, Alistair all but jumps into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, kissing her as he has been longing to all day.  “I love you,” he says, his words muffled by her mouth on his.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> another birthday present for morgsmorgsmorgsblr on tumblr! this time I actually finished it in the same month as her birthday, so I'm feeling pretty confident about it. The prompt it came from was "we’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about" but I uh didn't really stick to it, as you can probs tell (oh well alas c'est la vie). hope you like it!! :D


End file.
